


cold hands warm heart

by kairosia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anxiety, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Shapeshifting, i mean it's yuuri so, think frozen but no not really like frozen at all, very very loosely based on slavic mythology, winterspirit!viktor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kairosia/pseuds/kairosia
Summary: Viktor is a winter spirit cursed to shift forms based on other people's fear or admiration, a mirror that reflects whatever anyone believes him to be. He stays away from humans who have learned to hate the winter and all it brings, until he meets one who doesn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very loosely inspired by the Slavic winter goddess Morana. I only really adopted the element where her appearance and malevolence/generosity depend on whether or not she is feared by the person approaching her.
> 
> It might be a lil confusing at first but bear with me 
> 
> Unbeta’d and only roughly edited so please if you see any mistakes let me know! I wrote this while procrastinating so it's pretty rushed. Kudos and comments are my lifeblood

Whenever Viktor closed his eyes he could feel winter breathe around him like a living thing. Some days were truly good, days when ice decorated the trees like crystals and the sun hit them just so, or when a doe and her fawn greeted him like an old friend. Days when magic thrummed through his body and he made snow fall or lakes freeze over. He felt most awake then, basking in his element, connected to it with every fiber of his being. Some days, being a winter spirit was almost wonderful.

Other days weren’t so good.

He didn’t know how long he had been here, living or dead or somewhere in between. Time passed differently in the forest or maybe just in him. When Yakov had found him he’d been a baby turning blue in the snow; that was many years ago. He still felt like a child, though, and a child wanted friends. Yakov was too serious and ancient, and since becoming sure that Viktor could be trusted on his own the old guardian spent more time in the mountains than not. To fill the long stretches of time Viktor played with magic, made beautiful ice creations out of it, birds that fluttered and fairies that danced, but they were still only ice and couldn’t really keep him company. He had long since learned to stay away from humans, as endlessly curious as he was about them. Sometimes he dreamed of meeting other spirits who at the very least would not fear him and transform him with a glance like the humans did.

It was all right, really. It was all he knew.

He was resting in a clearing dimly lit with dawn light when the bundle of brown fur tottered out of the greenery towards him. Viktor’s form was neutral, as it always was among animals, who neither abhorred nor admired him; a white wolf, in this case. The tiny creature wagged its tail and yipped at him, and he lowered his snout to sniff at it. It did not belong to the forest and smelled of smoke and humans, instinctively putting him on guard. But it was too young to be a hunting dog, and besides, something about its big, happy eyes and lolling tongue instantly cheered him.

Then, as if having reached a decision, the pup pulled back, sat itself on its haunches, and let out a thin howl.

Viktor tilted his head at it in amusement. The pup stopped howling and leapt at his side once more, nipping at his ear playfully. He humored its antics, nudging it back.

The crunch of snow startled him. He looked up and immediately drew back from the sight that met him. Stumbling into the clearing was a human – albeit only a child. Wrapped in too-thin clothes and barely taller than Viktor’s form currently was, he couldn’t have been more than four or five years old.

“Puppy…puppy…” The child coughed, tripping in the snow. At the sound of his voice, the pup dashed to the boy’s side, fretting about him. Viktor’s eyes widened. The safest course of action would be to turn and run; the child presumably came from the nearby town, so it was probable that he’d react to Viktor’s presence with fear or horror. If that happened Viktor would have very little say in the outcome. He remembered the last time he’d come across a human. The man had taken one terror-filled look at him and in the same instant Viktor had felt himself shift to be worthy of that terror. He tried not to think about that day and vowed never to let it reoccur, although truthfully that too was beyond his control.

But he was still in wolf form. If he was gentle enough maybe the worst could be avoided. The boy was curled on the ground. Left alone he would die, either from the cold or from the actual wolves that roamed these parts.

Warily, Viktor moved closer. With each step he felt the familiar squirming in his chest compelling him to shift but he smothered it, concentrating instead on the child.

The boy opened his eyes and Viktor braced himself. This was the moment when the pendulum could swing either way, and it was like being suspended in time. But sure enough the moment passed, the boy’s brown eyes blinking wide and locking onto his, and an ugly contortion never came. His skin didn’t stretch, his limbs didn’t twist, his mind didn’t collapse. His breathing calmed. The boy gurgled and peered up at him curiously. Viktor could tell that he was a little scared, but not in the way humans tended to be scared of him. He nudged the child until he sat up and timidly reached out a hand to pet Viktor behind the ear.

“Hello, doggy,” the boy mumbled, before letting his hand drop. He began to cough again, and the brown pup let out a whine.

For the first time in what seemed like forever Viktor felt the possibility of a human-shift open up to him in the presence of another living being. It was such a foreign sensation that it took a beat for him to recognise; it was like a padlocked door had suddenly opened, and the urge to step through it was unbearably tempting. Human-shifts could be curbed, however; it was unpleasant, but not impossible. It was the only form that he could and had to choose. And here he was, hesitating.

He wanted to be human as much as he didn’t.

The boy’s eyes flickered shut again, and his breathing turned ragged. In that instant he made up his mind. He surrendered to the prickling agitation flowing through his blood, and let himself shift.

When it was done he stood taller than a second ago, with pale silver hair hanging over his eyes. He brushed it out of the way with long-fingered hands; it reached his waist, his body draped in a fine white robe and cloak. This was a form meant to be beautiful, one that embodied the opposite of fear and malice. Without seeing his reflection it was difficult to tell how old he looked. It was a more tangible version of the form he took around Yakov, so maybe a few years older than the boy in front of him. Crouching down, he hefted the now sleeping child up, casting an apologetic glance down at the pup.

“You’re alright to follow, aren’t you?” The sound of his own voice surprised him, young and unmistakably human. He shivered.

It was a decent walk back to the town, with the pup trailing behind them. Generally speaking Viktor was careful to keep his distance from humans – it was for their own safety – which meant the boy must have been wandering for some time. That he was still alive was a miracle in itself.

The child shifted drowsily, but in his dazed state, seemed not to be bothered by the fact that he was being carried by a stranger through the woods. Instead he began to play with Viktor’s hair, inspecting it with wonder.

“Pretty,” he yawned, before resting his head back down again. Viktor smiled.

“Don’t worry, you’re almost home,” he assured.

“Hmm…” the boy hummed. “Thanks-you.”

He chuckled. “You’re very welcome.”

“My name’s Yuuri.”

“Yuuri…” It was a nice name, strong but gentle and rolling off the tongue. “I’m Viktor.”

Yuuri drifted back to sleep, nuzzled against his shoulder. Viktor felt warm and happy and determined to get him back to his family safely. He warded off the cold around them and hugged the boy tighter.

When they reached the outskirts of the forest, he set Yuuri down and nudged him awake.

“We’re here,” he said. “Look – that’s your town, isn’t it?”

Yuuri rubbed his eyes and glanced through the trees in the direction Viktor was pointing. The small houses were just visible. Yuuri gasped. “Okaasan!”

Viktor smiled. “I can’t go with you any further. You’ll be alright won’t you?”

Yuuri frowned. “Where are you going to go?”

“Back to the forest, of course.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t go wandering off again, okay, Yuuri? It’s dangerous.”

“I won’t,” Yuuri promised. “But if I do, Viktor will be there!”

Viktor shook his head in amusement. “Here,” he said, and reached out for the boy’s hand. He closed his eyes and summoned his magic. Tiny wisps of white coalesced on Yuuri’s palm, fashioning themselves into an intricate snowflake. It did not melt like snowflakes tended to do.

“Waa, how did you _do_ that?”

“It’s a secret.”

Yuuri pouted. “It’s so – so – ” He clutched the snowflake against his heart and gazed earnestly up at him. “I wish I could do that. Can you teach me?”

Viktor’s chest clenched. “Maybe one day.”

“Please?”

A shout sounded from the town. He glanced up, conscious of how urgently he needed to leave. He relented. “I’d love to teach you, Yuuri. When you’re a little older – how does that sound?”

“I can’t wait.” And suddenly Viktor had an armful of limbs thrown at him. He hugged Yuuri tightly and hated how his throat closed up at this small gesture. Yuuri scooped up his puppy and gave Viktor one last shy smile before turning back towards the town, fist still curled around the snowflake. Another shout. Viktor did not stay to watch Yuuri be discovered; he knew he would be. He picked himself up and returned to the cold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sooo in between brain dumping the first chapter and this one i’ve kind of realised that i might want to flesh this idea/world out more carefully as an original story? BUT dw i’m still going to write this fic as a sort of rough draft anyway since posting online helps keep me motivated
> 
> tldr – i’m very much experimenting with this as i go along so expect clumsiness/messiness.

Miracles were not questioned. The Katsukis thanked whatever forces had conspired to spare their son and from then on kept a slightly closer eye on him while he played. When Yuuri hugged his puppy close and insisted on calling him Vicchan, they humoured him. When he showed them the snowflake, ever-cold and never-melting in his palm, and told them Viktor gave it to him, they didn’t know what to think. Minako, a woman who had once been a mage-mentor before an accident forced her to retire, was the only person they thought might have an idea. She said she’d never seen anything like it. She would call it magework, but magework was perishable. It did not last like this independent from its conjurer.

In lieu of an answer his mother decided it must be a protective charm and wrapped it up in a piece of cloth and told Yuuri to keep it in his pocket. He was happy to obey.

Most children grew up; Yuuri grew in. He had always been a quiet child but now he was a shy one too, drafting sentences in his head before he spoke them, always apprehensive of what other people thought of him. He had Vicchan at least, who knew all his secrets and who he never had to fear would judge him. Vicchan was the only one who knew about the angel in the forest with the silver hair and impossible blue eyes and the only one who knew how Yuuri sometimes sat in the snow with his eyes clenched tight in concentration, willing those elegant white threads of magic that he remembered so vividly to form through sheer force alone. They never did, but that didn’t stop him trying.

Yuuko, the town healer’s daughter, was his one and only friend. They met on the night before a hunt, his parents together with the rest of the adults entertaining the group of foreigners who had come to try their luck at catching the winter spirit. It was always like this, food and drink and a burning fire, the adults laughing and celebrating, the foreigners cocky or secretly afraid because it might happen that some of them wouldn’t survive tomorrow. In the meantime the children played games and afterwards gathered to tell tales. Yuuko found Yuuri in the corner sitting apart from the rest of the group, turning his snowflake over and over again his hand.

“Hi,” she said, dropping down beside him.

He looked up, surprised to find someone speaking to him. “Hello.”

“What have you got there?”

Yuuri’s fist snapped closed. He flashed her an apologetic look, but she just smiled. “You don’t like the stories, either?” she asked, nodding towards the circle.

“Um. No, not really.”

“Me neither.” She shivered and huddled deeper into her shawl. “I don’t think scary stories are very fun when they live so close to where you sleep.”

Yuuri hummed.

“Are you cold?”

He shook his head. “I don’t mind it. I like the cold.”

She chuckled. “I can’t wait to see spring one day. Can you imagine it – spring in Hasetsu? I can’t. They say the trees flower and that the grass turns green and fish fill the river. Do you think it will ever happen?”

“Maybe.” He bit his lip. “Maybe it will happen tomorrow.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Yuuko said, lips curved wryly. “My mother said this bunch is one of the worst yet.”

“That’s impressive,” Yuuri found himself saying.

Yuuko laughed. “Yes, yes it is. Spring will have to wait a while longer, I think.”

He smiled. Yuuko was easy to talk to; she did most of it for him. He didn’t know why she’d first approached him – he supposed she’d felt sorry for him – but after a while Vicchan stopped being the only one who knew his secrets.

It happened a few days later, after the unsuccessful hunt had gone home to warmer, kinder climates. He was playing in the snow outside their house with Mari and Vicchan when something remarkable happened. Mari pitched a snowball at him, and even though it was right on target it never struck him.

Instead, it swerved sharply to the side, missing him by a wide margin.

“Yuuri,” his sister said, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

She picked up another fistful of snow and flung it at him.

“Hey –!” Yuuri exclaimed. Again, it swerved.

They both turned to stare at the place where it had landed, then back at each other.

He was six years old and that was how it started.

 

* * *

 

And this, apparently, was how it ended.

When Yuuri stepped through the door of his childhood home, his parents greeted him as if a week and not five long years had passed since they’d last laid eyes on each other. His mother looked the same as ever, wrapping him in a warm tight hug that smelled faintly of ginger. His father had a few more grey hairs, a few more laugh lines around the mouth and eyes. Mari, most noticeably older, punched him the shoulder in her usual way and smirked, telling him it had taken him long enough.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said, looking down at the ground. The shame that had been his constant companion on the journey home swelled inside him. “I meant to visit, I just…” He shrugged lamely.

“Don’t be sorry,” Mari said. “You’re back now, little brother. That’s all that matters.”

He tried to believe her but found it difficult. In his head, as soon as he left the room they would turn to each other and talk about all the ways in which he’d changed for the worse. Phichit told him he didn’t give people enough credit; they were generally a whole lot kinder than he expected them to be. He was probably right – his family loved him, supported him – but convincing his brain of that was a different story altogether.

The onsen was always a quiet place and the little room where the shrine sat was all the quieter. Yuuri knelt on the ground, the thoughts he’d been pushing down until now finally catching up to him. On nights when his pillow dampened under his cheek and he beat himself up because he was so clumsy when it came to making friends – he was so shy and awkward and boring, it was a miracle he even had one person willing to stick around – Vicchan had always been able to cheer him up. In exchange, Yuuri had all but forgotten him in his stupid quest for something more.

He’d been high on hope when he first left home. At seventeen he’d imagined leaving behind his lacklustre self in the place he’d grown up in, thought that maybe travelling three hundred miles west to train under Celestino’s tutelage in the capital Valhurst would change him into someone strong, someone who his family could be proud of. It didn’t matter that his possessing magic at all was a miracle in and of itself. Yuuri had to prove he could do something with it. Sitting in the stands of the Royal Gala, Celestino and Phichit by his side, and witnessing for the first time the wonders that master mages could create had stirred a bone-deep hunger in him that he hadn’t previously thought himself capable of. He didn’t really expect to fall in love with competitive magic, had always half-imagined that the fights would be rough and brutish. And they _were_ forceful; the power on display was striking, beams and curls of light that were deceptively elegant but which carried the energy of thunderstorms in them. The way the competitors moved as if dancing was nothing if not beautiful. He found himself wanting to turn his magic into art like they did.

He blinked away tears; every time he thought he might be feeling better, that the pain might have passed, he remembered standing in the arena, his muscles locked, his magic a stranger to him; he remembered lying winded in the dirt while the audience cheered for his opponent. There had been a flurry of speculation surrounding Yuuri’s debut at the Royal Gala. A mage from Hasetsu? The name of their humble little town was infamous enough on its own. Fuelling the chatter was the fact that Yuuri Katsuki was said to have a propensity for elemental magic – for ice magic, no less.

Still, the excitement and hype quickly fell flat, when everyone realised there was nothing special about him after all.

He brushed away the wetness from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Vicchan,” he murmured.

Back in his room he wrapped himself up in warm layers, before heading outside into the winter chill. He called to his mother that he’d be back before the sun set.

She let him go. She had long since stopped worrying about harm coming to him – maybe it was because of that first miracle when he was five years old, or maybe it was his training and magic; she knew he was safe where no one else was.

Hasetsu’s winter spirit was legendary and known throughout the kingdom, although to call it a spirit was to understate exactly what it was, which was more of a god than anything. Their town served as its warden. It was surprisingly good for business at the onsen, drawing in eccentrics and madmen from all over who talked of finally bringing spring to Hasetsu and of conquering death. It was said that whoever killed the spirit would gain immortality. Those that returned from hunts told stories about ferocious teeth and cold-blooded eyes; some people said death was covered in scales, while others described translucent skin or rotting flesh and grotesque limbs. The only consistency in their descriptions was terror.

In a way it was ironic: everything frightened Yuuri, except what should have frightened him most. Still, for the sake of his mother’s heart he never strayed too far into the forest. Just far enough to get away from everyone else, just far enough that he was surrounded only by trees and untouched snow. Although the town was only a couple of minutes away Yuuri felt like he was the only person left on earth. Time lost its meaning; he could have stumbled into the past or the future, it would have been impossible to tell here. His magic was always most powerful in solitude, away from prying eyes.

He took a deep breath and centred himself. It was effortless, here. Instinctive. He drew on the energy in the ice and snow around him until it filled him to the brim and then it was just a matter of freeing it in a controlled and purposeful way. He went through his warm up techniques, which involved basic combat moves gradually building up in difficulty – deflections, single strikes, volleys, blitzes. Yuuri’s magic manifested as a deep blue, but unlike other mages he was not limited to playing with basic energy alone. He could reconstitute the energy he gleaned from his surroundings into its original element; he could weave ice out of thin air, he could raise solid shields in the blink of an eye, send daggers flying through the air.

Whenever he was feeling great deal of emotion he preferred to express himself differently, not in battle techniques but in a sort of flowing dance that he’d come up with to suit his magic perfectly. The first time Phichit stumbled on Yuuri doing this, Yuuri had expected to be laughed at. But instead Phichit had been amazed. His movements were smooth and sweeping and with them he conjured intricate ice patterns and ribbons of energy that he told stories with. This here was hunger and determination. This was sadness and disappointment. This was grief. He felt perfectly connected, perfectly balanced. He was suspended.

A rustling from the clump of trees and bushes to his left caused his magic to instantly dissipate.

“Who’s there?” he called. He tried not to betray the tremor in his voice, shifting into a precautionary combat stance.

Silence rang back at him. Nothing, it seemed. His imagination. A breeze, perhaps, or snow falling off a branch.

He decided he’d practiced enough. His mother had certainly finished making the katsudon by now and it was time to head home, before the sun set and darkness fell. He picked up his discarded rucksack, throwing one last glance into the trees before trudging back through the snow. It crossed his mind fleetingly – silver hair, blue eyes – but he pushed it aside just as quickly. He was not a child anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos + comments = sweet sweet validation for me and eternal love for u


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I'M TERRIBLE
> 
> Real life has finally decided calm down enough now that I'm getting back into writing. Plus I hate doing character introductions and this chpt has way too many of them. I was hoping to do the reunion in this chapter, but since it's getting a bit longer and I haven't updated in a while, I thought I'd post this half in the meantime. VICTUURI INTERACTIONS ARE COMING SOON I promise I wish i could hurry it along but plot necessities and all
> 
> Hope you enjoy this 3k of exposition anyway lovelies

“You look terrible. What did Valhurst do to you?”

_Chewed me up and spat me back out._

Of all the reunions he’d been thrown into since his return home this was perhaps the most nerve-wracking. Cornered, he rubbed the back of his neck and gave an awkward chuckle. “Ah, always so honest, Minako-sensei…”

“Well, go on, then,” his former mentor said, and it was so very like Minako to launch into the heart of things like this, without pretense or preamble. Arms crossed expectantly and forehead furrowed, she was just as he remembered from his early years, when he’d only just begun stumbling through the basics of magework like a newborn chick testing out its wings. “A hare, let’s say.”

Reluctantly he stood and moved from where he was sat across from her to a clear space beside the irori. He took a deep breath, concentrating the cold ripple of power shivering down his arm into his palm, visualizing the image he meant to manifest and waving at the floor at his feet. A ribbon of blue curled up there and morphed into a ghostly hare with long, twitching ears, looking a little skittish as it observed its surroundings.

“Well?” Yuuri prompted.

“Better than I thought it would be.”

“It’s always better here,” he said softly.

“Better doesn’t mean good.” She glanced up at him. “Celestino wrote me. He told me you were cut off for a couple of days after the gala. Do you want to tell me about that?”

Of course Celestino had written to her. At least his family had not brought it up, which meant they couldn’t know – a small mercy.

“It was nothing.”

It was not nothing. It was the most terrified he’d ever been. Minako knew this.

“Yuuri.”

He sat back down and pulled his knees to his chest. “I was tired and angry and upset. My magic responded. It came back as soon as I recovered.” Truthfully it had taken more than that; it had taken Phichit, in a drunken epiphany, teetering on the edge of a roof and forcing Yuuri’s magic awake again in order to stop his friend from falling. He decided it was better to keep that detail to himself.

“Yuuri,” Minako said again, shaking her head. “You need to look after yourself. Do you want to end up like me?

“There are worse fates,” he said, attempting a smile. Minako didn’t return it. She told him once what it had felt like when her tether to magic snapped for good. Agony. Like a part of her soul had been permanently snuffed out, blackness unending where there had once been light. She did not like to talk about what had happened or how it had gotten to that point. Yuuri saw the heartbreak in her eyes and knew better than to ask.

“I should have gone with you,” she said.

He didn’t think it would have changed much if she had. “Can we talk about something else?”

She looked ready to argue but perhaps she saw his expression and took pity. She waved for him to continue, relenting for the time being. It went both ways with them, a silent agreement not to push. Yuuri exhaled in relief.

“Are you still mentoring?”

She snorted. “If you can call it that; it’s all just theory, really, isn’t it? I’m down to two students. They’re a lively pair, though, keep me occupied enough. One of them is showing signs of magic. Might have another mage in Hasetsu soon.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for the competition.”

Minako smiled at that. She poured him some more tea and took up her own cup, running her finger around the rim of it thoughtfully. “The town’s been quiet lately,” she hummed. “Or you know – quieter than usual. Two whole months and no visitors. Not a single soul. You’d think the world’s forgotten we exist.”

“My parents mentioned business has been slow.”

“It’s been weighing on them. Nothing to do about it except hope and wait.”

He nodded.

“I’m glad you’re back, Yuuri.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll oversee your training while you’re here, if you want. Help you out however much I can. Keep you from getting sloppy.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”

She looked at him carefully. “You’re too good to give up,” she said, with a certainty that set off a pang in his chest. He wanted to argue, to point out how the very fact that his grip on magic was so tenuous and easily defeated by his own mindset – not even an accident or injury like Minako’s, not even anything physical – made it clear he wasn’t born to do this or at least wasn’t born to do it well. But he didn’t want to disappoint her even more.

“I’m not giving up,” he said. “I just want to not think about it for a while – catch my breath, remind myself of a few things. I want… I want magic to be simple again.” This was where it had begun for him, after all. He thought maybe he could pare back everything he’d stacked on top of that foundation and figure out where he went wrong, figure out how to built himself up again to be better, stronger, a fighter with a purpose.

“Well,” Minako said. “I’d say you’re in the right place, then.”

 

* * *

 

Hasetsu didn’t have to wait long for the world to come knocking again. To the relief of his parents good fortune struck less than a week later. Arriving home from a mentoring session with Minako, whose offer he’d decided he might as well take up, Yuuri halted at the sight of a group of foreigners gathered in front of the onsen alongside their horses – two women and three men, although one was noticeably younger than the rest, arms crossed and gaze panning skeptically across his surroundings. His eyes landed on Yuuri and one brow rose in challenge. Yuuri blinked dumbly; the boy scoffed and turned to mutter something to one of his companions, a redheaded woman with the tell-tale insignia of the Crown inscribed on her travelling cloak. On second glance she was not the only one wearing it. The others were too, in one form or another. A man with blond and brown hair and a lively grin, a woman with wide lilac eyes, and another taller man behind them running up the stirrups on his horse. Could it be…? Surely it was his eyes playing tricks on him, but he thought he recognised a couple of them. They were unmistakeable, they were master mages known throughout the kingdom – but it was impossible. What business could they have here?

 _A hunt. They must be here for a hunt._ But they were not the kind of people one would expect to find chasing legends; they were too busy becoming them.

Christophe Giacometti, Royal Gala champion and a man who Yuuri had watched soar through competition ranks but who he’d never progressed far enough to face in a duel, spotted him and waved. “You there, mind helping us with these horses?”

Yuuri shook himself out of his star-struck stupor. “Oh, I – yes, of course.” He hurried over and took the reins of an unaccompanied horse off the older man, searching for and slipping into the formal niceties of a host. “Welcome to Hasetsu. How was your journey?”

The blond boy snorted.

“Long and arduous,” Christophe lamented, ignoring the boy. “Your town is a reclusive little thing! I have to say, it’s not really what I expected from the stories. It’s… well, it’s quite cozy, isn’t it?”

“It’s fucking freezing,” the boy muttered.

“Don’t mind Yuri, he’s a kitten, really,” the red-haired woman interjected. Unlike Christophe she was unfamiliar to Yuuri, but perhaps she was not a mage. “And extra grumpy on an empty stomach.” Seemingly deaf to Yuri’s cursing her in the background, she extended a hand and a grin to Yuuri. “I’m Mila Babicheva, head of the Royal Guard.”

 _The Royal Guard._ He straightened his back, all the warier.

“Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Katsuki?” The other man in the party had joined them silently and only just spoke up. It was Georgi Popovich – another prominent master mage. Beside him stood Sara Crispino, who held the title of youngest woman crowned a Gala victor. She gave him a friendly smile that belied the power beneath her skin. “You competed in the Royal Gala last year, didn’t you?” Georgi continued. “The elemental.”

“Ah, yes – ”

“Wait, that was _you?”_ Yuri broke in. He gaped.

“He just confirmed that, darling,” Mila said sweetly.

“Shut up, hag.”

Sara slid gracefully between them and draped an arm around each. “Why don’t we continue this lovely conversation inside over some warm food?”

“Wonderful idea,” Christophe concurred. “I’m starving.”

Letting them talk amongst themselves, Yuuri escorted them to the stables behind the onsen. His parents had had them extended to accommodate hunting parties that brought horses with them. He could not help being on his guard; the newcomers joked easily and did not seem thrown in the slightest by their unfamiliar environment, but their presence could not be innocent. He just couldn’t understand it.

As it happened, he didn’t need to.

The question all but answered itself in the portrait of incongruity that was Crown Prince Jean-Jacques Leroy conversing with his parents and sister in the heart of their humble little home and inn. He turned upon noticing Yuuri and the other’s entrance, teeth bright, hands on his hips. “My faithful companions! You’ve finally decided to join me.”

“You left us out there, asshole – ” An elbow to the ribs from Mila cut Yuri off.

“The Katsukis here have graciously agreed to be our hosts for the duration of our expedition,” the Prince went on.

“We’re honored to be of service to the Prince and his guard,” his sister said, bowing. “I’m Mari Katsuki. These are my parents, Toshiya and Hiroko, and my brother, Yuuri, who I see you’ve already met. Please, if you have any questions or concerns we will do our best to assist you.”

“Delightful,” Leroy said.

“Thank you,” Sara said, giving a small bow to his family in return. “I’m sure we will be very comfortable here.”

Yuuri looked over and caught Mari’s eyes, the flicker in them which he could read plain as anything.

 _Later_ , they said.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, Yuuri, can you believe it? The prince, staying here with us!” His mother buzzed with excitement, stirring pots and pans and directing Mari on how to set up the dining space over her shoulder _and do track down the good sake your father’s been hoarding, only the best._ “Out of nowhere, such a shock....”

“I don’t know why they didn’t send word that they were coming,” Mari said. “It’s lucky we have enough space.”

“Let’s not vex our blessings,” his mother chided.

Mari shrugged.

“Did he tell you why they were here?” Yuuri asked.

“It’s part of his Rites of Accession, apparently. He has to choose and complete a quest before he takes the throne.”

“So he’s chosen…” Yuuri began.

“Yep,” Mari sighed. “And honestly, having met him?” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m not surprised.”

“Mari, don’t start like that,” their mother said.

“He asked me if I minded drawing up a bath for him before he even asked for my name,” she said pointedly.

“He was perfectly courteous and dignified. And he’s a prince, besides. Allowances must be made.”

“Well,” Mari raised her brows. “I’ll let you judge for yourself, little brother.”

Since Christophe had invited him to eat with the rest of the party, Yuuri had ample opportunity to do so. It was strange to sit among them. He felt restless and out of place, but it was better once he had food in front of him to distract himself with. Then he could simply listen and nod along to what was being said. Christophe launched into an anecdote about the journey to Hasetsu that involved vengeful wild turkeys and tents on fire and a decent amount of flapping hand gestures, only to be told to stop being so dramatic by Georgi. Mila and Sara both burst into laughter at that, saying how he was one to talk, and no they hadn’t forgotten what he’d been like about Anya, at which point Yuri put his head in his hands and muttered something that vaguely sounded like, ‘No. Please. Not this again.’

All in all, Yuuri found himself relaxing in their presence, even enjoying it. On the tail end of another story the prince took up a glass of sake and raised it. “Tonight, we eat and drink. Tomorrow, we snare ourselves a god.”

There were sounds of agreement around the table, as the mood abruptly shifted from jovial to purposeful. Yuuri blinked. “Tomorrow? So soon?”

“Why delay?”

“No – it’s just sudden, I mean. Usually hunters take some time after they arrive to scope things out first.”

“We’re not your usual hunters, Katsuki. I know your town has been tyrannized by this demon for a very long time. You’ve watched many amateurs come and go, promising and failing to do the same thing. Consider finally ridding Hasetsu of its burden my gift to your family and your town.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Yuuri replied, uncertain. He was beginning to think that maybe Mari’s assessment of the prince had some weight to it.

Christophe rested his chin on his hand. “Why don’t you come with us tomorrow, Yuuri?”

Leroy perked up again. “Yes, excellent idea. It can’t hurt to have a local with us.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I really don’t think – there are better people than me who could – ”

“Nonsense. You’ll do perfectly.” He reached over and placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder and looked at him with a seriousness that was almost comical. “You’re a brave man, Yuuri Katsuki. I respect that.”

Yuuri blinked. “I… Thank you, but –”

“You’re very welcome. We set off at dawn.” He raised another glass of sake. “Let the gods bless us with success!” Around the table everyone followed suit, downing their drinks. Yuuri, with a sense of resignation, did the same. He stopped himself at one, waving off Christophe’s insistence that he drink some more.

While the others settled into the late hour with his father’s sake and the mellowing of any lingering formalities, Yuuri slipped outside, leaning against the wooden balustrade and peering into the dark murky wall of the forest. It looked and felt so terrifyingly primal at night, and it was now that he got an idea of fear about it and the way it tugged on some invisible cord in his chest. He had already been spirited away by it once, but he had been lucky then, he had been allowed to come home. Tomorrow, apparently, he would go deeper into its reaches than he had ever dared since. It sent a shiver through him, of fear and excitement both. He had not really wanted to refuse the prince’s invitation.

“I watched you at the Gala last year,” a voice said from behind him. Yuri Plisetsky stepped out of the shadows and came to stand at his side.

Yuuri’s heart sank a little. He did not turn away from the forest. “Oh?”

“Elemental magic is wasted on you.”

Yuuri knew it was true, but it was a crueler truth coming out of this boy’s mouth. The age difference between them accompanied with the way he said it so plainly cut into him afresh. He gripped the wooden barrier tighter.

Yuri gave him a judging look. “What, nothing to say?” He scoffed. “Pathetic.”

 _Pathetic._ Yuuri let it wash over him. He had some pride left, and although his heart echoed everything that was being said he didn’t want to hear any more of it from someone who would likely never understand what it was like to have your mind hell-bent on your own ruin, to have it work against you in all that you pursued, to question every good thing in your life over and over and over again and still never be fully convinced that you deserved it.

“You’re an apprentice still, aren’t you?” he asked, changing the topic.

“So?”

Yuuri shrugged. “I just mean you’re very young, to be a part of the king’s guard on a trip like this.”

Yuri visibly bridled at that. “If that idiot makes it out of this alive, it will be because I am a part of his guard. All my training is with Christophe, Sara and Georgi at the royal arena; we know how to work together. And I’m good,” he added pointedly.

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” He had to be, to be chosen to train at the royal arena; it was an honor afforded to few. Yuuri paused. “You really get away with insulting the prince like that?”

“I insult everyone. He assumes it’s not personal.”

Yuuri’s mouth quirked. “But it is?”

“You’ve met him,” Yuri muttered.

Yuuri let out a traitorous huff of laughter. “And yet here you are,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You know the stories, I’m sure. You can’t think so badly of him if you’re willing to face them for his sake.”

“I’m not scared of stories,” Yuri said. “And what makes you think I’m doing it for his sake?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m doing it because it’s a challenge, and because it’s my duty.”

Yuuri was surprised. It must have shown, because Yuri went on. “Look, no one wants JJ to live forever. Least of all me.”

“Then why help him?”

“It’s not for him.”

The question in Yuuri’s eyes was obvious.

Yuri sighed. “Just take my word for it, pig. It’s better for everyone if we catch that thing. If you must come tomorrow, I hope you’ll do your part to make sure it happens.”

“I plan to.”

Yuri nodded, satisfied with this. He stopped on his way to retreating inside. “Prove me wrong,” he said.

And Yuuri, gods help him, was determined to try.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not entirely happy with how this chpt turned out – still getting a hang of all the character voices – but hopefully next one should be better :)


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